Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 35 Dolf stared into the void, his head tilted in confusion as he watched Turan vanish into the darkness.
Stealth magic?
Wasn't that just a parlor trick used by scouts to hide their forms while their presence remained as obvious as day?
However, his bewilderment curdled into shock and then pure terror when he lunged at the spot where the boy had stood, only to grasp at empty air. To vanish without leaving so much as a footprint in the sand—a concealment so absolute that not even his heightened senses of hearing and smell could catch a trace...
In this desert, there wasn't a soul who didn't know what that implied.
"Don't tell me, a Zahar—!"
Before he could finish the thought, Dolf let out a strangled scream and dropped to one knee. An agonizing explosion of pain erupted at the back of his head. Warm blood slicked his neck; his scalp had been split wide open.
What was that? What hit me?
As he spun around, he saw a stone the size of a hen's egg rolling across the dunes. Before his mind could process the sight, a second and third stone whistled through the air in rapid succession, slamming into his ribs and back. Each strike carried enough force to shatter the bones of a lesser noble.
Fortunately, he managed to see the last one coming, swatting it away with a desperate swing of his arm. Amidst the excruciating pain, the mind of a man who had survived a century of wandering churned, frantically searching for a way to live.
"O Flame!"
With a chant he rarely used, fire flared up around him. The first rule of fighting a hidden foe: illuminate the battlefield.
However, the flames failed to spread beyond his immediate vicinity. This was the inherent limitation of the Strength-bearer bloodline—they were ill-suited for projecting magical power outward.
His opponent was undoubtedly preparing another attack from the darkness just beyond the light's reach.
Where is he? Where!
Dolf frantically scanned the shadows, trying to discern the direction of the next strike. If it was another sling attack, the projectile would become visible the moment it left the attacker's person, giving him a chance to dodge. And if the brat tried to close in for a melee strike, Dolf would take the hit and grab him. The moment he laid hands on the boy, the victory would be his.
Just then, five or six fireballs bloomed in the distance. They spun in place for a heartbeat before hurtling toward him at a terrifying speed.
"Aaaaaagh!"
Dolf shielded his face with both hands and charged straight into the incoming fire. He felt his clothes burn away and his flesh sear on his arms, shoulders, and abdomen, but he gritted his teeth and endured. If he could just catch the bastard—
"Come out! I said come out!"
Reaching the spot where the fireballs had been launched, Dolf roared, swinging his arms wildly and kicking up sand in every direction.
But he hit nothing. It was a desperate struggle against a ghost he could neither see nor feel.
As his mind, half-paralyzed by pain and fear, began to cool, a semblance of judgment returned.
I have to run!
Fighting a Zahar mage in the desert at night was a death sentence—especially for a mere noble of the Strength-bearer bloodline who didn't even hail from a Great House. Dolf turned and bolted. He even tore the pouch from his waist and threw it aside, as it was only hindering his flight.
"Huff, huff, haaa!"
True to his bloodline, his speed was far superior to that of an ordinary noble. While double the strength didn't necessarily mean double the speed, his powerful legs ate up the distance. Since his stamina was also superior, he figured he could survive if he just kept running.
The thought of being hunted by Zahar nobles for the rest of his life made him want to piss himself, but—
As if mocking his brief moment of relief, a faint fluttering sound reached his ears from above. Dolf looked up, his face turning deathly pale.
"Ah..."
High in the pitch-black sky, Turan was looking down at him, dangling from the talons of the Golden Eagle.
"You're quite sturdy, though not as much as those of the Guardian bloodline. An ordinary noble would have died long ago from those hits. Or do you have a magic tool aiding your defense?"
"P-please, have mercy—"
"You know I can't do that."
In the gray eyes looking down at him, there wasn't a shred of mercy, nor even a flicker of human warmth. Dolf squeezed his eyes shut as the fireballs rained down.
*
Turan looked down at the charred corpse sprawled on the sand with a dry expression. He felt no guilt at the man's miserable end. The man was no different from the bandits he had encountered when he first descended the hill; he was simply a bit stronger.
That said, he was much tougher than I expected... or should I say, durable? If a Strength-bearer is this resilient, I'll need more powerful means of attack when I face someone from the Guardian bloodline.
He realized that if his opponent had been a properly trained Strength-bearer, and if he himself hadn't used the power of the Zahar bloodline, the fight wouldn't have been so easy. The man's physical defense was high enough to withstand over a dozen sling stones and fireballs.
Of course, considering that such defense was the very essence of the Strength-bearer's bloodline ability, it was a pointless hypothetical. Still, it was something Turan had to keep in mind, as he was reluctant to reveal his full capabilities openly.
"Good job."
[Easy.]
As the Golden Eagle scratched words into the sand, projecting a sense of pride, Turan smiled and scratched the bird's head. Without this fellow, catching the fleeing Dolf would have been a hassle.
It seemed he would need to find a magic tool suited for offense when the opportunity arose. Or perhaps develop a powerful spell capable of piercing such defenses.
A moment later, Turan and the Golden Eagle began to absorb Dolf's mana. Normally, magical beasts absorb mana through consumption, but the Golden Eagle, being spiritually bound to Turan, could absorb mana like a human mage under his guidance.
As he watched the pale green radiance being siphoned—half into himself and half into the eagle—another streak of light suddenly erupted from the corpse.
"...Huh?"
The light was being sucked into Turan's pocket. It was the mysterious relic he had obtained from the sea. It was claiming a share of Dolf's mana as if it were a mage itself.
Once the absorption was complete, Turan immediately opened the relic's lid. The previously empty interior now held a small amount of a green liquid that hadn't been there before. Its nature wasn't hard to guess.
To think it was a vessel for storing mana.
He tried shaking the relic and even attempted to absorb the liquid, but there was no reaction. How was he supposed to use this? Did he have to drink it?
After pondering for a while, Turan closed the lid. Even though a noble's body was resistant to most toxins, he was still hesitant to ingest something unknown. Moreover, this was an item left behind by the Frea Divine Clan or a being of similar stature. It was better to investigate further before making a decision.
After finishing the mana absorption, he searched the body, but unfortunately, nothing particularly useful turned up. Then again, if the man had possessed any exceptional magic tools, he would have used them when his life was on the line.
At least the pouch Dolf had discarded during his flight contained a few gems, which would help replenish Turan's dwindling funds. Considering how much trouble he'd had when he possessed too many gold coins, this was actually preferable.
Now then... time to send him off.
He set fire to the mana-depleted corpse. Before long, the clothes and flesh were reduced to ash, drifting high into the sky. Finally, he crushed the remaining bones and let the wind scatter them. With that, every trace of the man known as Dolf Meren was erased from the world.
*
The next morning, Turan began flying southwest atop the Golden Eagle. As he had felt before, the world looked incredibly small from above. It was enough to make him feel a sense of futility—wondering why people struggled so hard for anything in such a tiny place.
"Are you holding up okay?"
In response to Turan's question, the Golden Eagle chirped, sending back a feeling that it was perfectly fine. While Dolf's mana was merely a decent snack for the stronger Turan, it had been a significant boost for the eagle. Now, the bird could fly for extended periods even without Turan using magic to lighten his weight.
After flying for a day and a half, passing dozens of small oases and three fairly large cities, Turan realized he had reached his destination.
That's it.
It was a massive, white, square-based pyramid, though its true scale was hard to grasp unless viewed from a great distance. Both its height and the length of its base were measured in hundreds of meters. It was of such overwhelming scale that it seemed it could only have been built by the gods themselves.
Looking down at it, Turan felt a sense of awe similar to when he first saw the Library of Orem.
According to travelogues, the structure was called the Tomb of the Gods, though contrary to its name, no gods were actually buried there. It was said to house a few artifacts from the Old Empire whose exact purposes were unknown. Likely, as with the Library of Orem, the truly valuable items had been spirited away somewhere around the time of the Empire's fall.
Landing a short distance from the Tomb of the Gods, the first thing Turan noticed was the noticeably warmer air. It was likely because he had traveled so far south. It wasn't quite "hot" yet, but someone with a sturdy constitution could probably get by without long sleeves. Come summer, it would surely become the scorching weather described in the books.
"Do you want to go find somewhere to play until evening? I'll call you then."
[Tasty food!]
"I know. I'll have something delicious ready for you, so don't worry."
After sending off the Golden Eagle—which could now practically communicate in full sentences—Turan entered the city of Banipel, looking like any other traveler. Having tried acting as a fallen noble, he found that traveling as a commoner suited his tastes better, provided it wasn't strictly necessary to do otherwise. Most importantly, one could always reveal themselves as a noble while posing as a commoner, but the reverse was much harder.
"Customer? Are you alone?"
"Yes."
Upon entering the city, Turan found a combined tavern and inn and ordered a simple meal. Since he was the only customer, the tavern keeper sat across from him and chatted, allowing Turan to gather information.
"Ran away from home to travel alone? Well now, you're a reckless one. Didn't run into any bandits or magical beasts?"
"I was lucky."
The keeper, a man in his forties, looked at him as if he were a naive brat. If a merchant's son had run away from home and walked for a week just to see a ruin, such a look was only natural.
"More importantly, do you know how to enter the Tomb of the Gods? I read in a book that anyone can get in if they have the money."
"You've even read books? You really must be from a well-to-do family. Regardless, from what I know, you can't go in right now."
"Why is that?"
Turan had been thinking of what the travelogue said, but then realized the book was likely at least a dozen years old. Perhaps even decades. The head of the family ruling Banipel might have changed the policy in the meantime.
However, according to the keeper's next words, that wasn't the case.
"It's nothing special, really. It's just been that way since some high-ranking people arrived about a week ago. Even a caravan that passed through recently had people who wanted to see the ruins, but they were turned away."
"High-ranking people?"
"You know, those people. Those ones."
"Ah."
Seeing the man speak in circles as if afraid to even mention a name, Turan finally understood. Zahar knights or nobles had visited the city.
This is going to be a nuisance.
It meant the high-ranking folks were hogging the ruins to themselves, not wanting to be disturbed by commoners. He didn't know what they were doing in there for a whole week, especially since he'd heard there wasn't even that much to see.
Turan thought for a moment and decided to stay here for a while until they left. It would be troublesome if he showed his face and someone managed to see the shadow of Talis in his features, just as the Kal family head had.
"I guess I'll be staying here for a bit, then."
"You got the coin?"
"Of course."
No matter how leisurely those nobles were, they surely wouldn't spend weeks or months sightseeing at a single ruin.
I wonder what I should give the eagle.
It didn't seem to like date palms much before, and since he couldn't get fish in the desert, he figured he'd have to catch a magical beast nearby for it.
*
"Perga! Perga! Where are you!"
"I'm right here, so stop shouting! Those things will hear you!"
In the pitch-black darkness, Perga Zahar shouted back irritably, hooking a chakram onto his finger. Beyond the darkness, which even the Zahar bloodline's innate night vision could not pierce, a grotesque wailing echoed.
A hidden basement exists within the Tomb of the Gods.
That was what he had heard from his grandfather, the Zahar family head, when he was a child. The head had told Perga, almost jokingly, that if he could solve that mystery, he might just become the next family head.
In the decades since, he had visited the tomb once a year, searching for a passage leading down. Since it was unthinkable to use force against a structure built by the gods, he had tried tapping on cracks in the walls or reciting secret languages found in ancient texts. Naturally, he'd had no success.
But a few days ago, while visiting the tomb with a few close friends almost out of habit, a door to the basement had suddenly opened. Perga had rushed down, overjoyed, thinking he had finally solved the mystery and that the position of the next family head was his.
But what awaited him was a labyrinth filled with a darkness so thick he could barely see, and mysterious monsters lurking within.
[□□□□□□----!]
They were strange creatures that seemed to be neither magical beasts, humans, nor any known race. Looking like humans twisted with the utmost malice, these things were not only powerful but also so accustomed to the bizarre darkness that even the Zahar elites struggled to face them.
To make matters worse, the passage they had used to descend had vanished, leaving them trapped underground for an unknown number of days.
"Any water left?"
"None..."
"Make some, quickly. We need to at least moisten our throats."
As he gave the order, a shriek rang out from behind them. For some reason, Perga felt as if he could almost understand the meaning behind that voice. As if it wasn't just his imagination, the friend beside him whispered softly.
"The Night Hunters... have returned... to the desert?"
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